


Provenance

by Leszre



Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: A major-character death, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Genesis story_of sort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29816337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leszre/pseuds/Leszre
Summary: COMPLETED.NOTE: this is arepost, as a part of re-instating effort…[TRANSLATION] unless I’m new to you, you already read this. :).[ Outline ]Ancient Greece AU: How EliOllie’s love story began––
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: /træn’sendɘns/ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992796
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Olive Tree and the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> As with my other fic, this might not be your thing as I tend to spew out unusual interpretations. Even if you don’t like mine, please keep being a valuable fanfam member of CMBYN in AO3. Each and every one of you are important in this fanfamdom world and its continued existence. Grazie!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *disclaimer* _This_ is _**NOT**_ meant for an accurate historical depiction or retelling of Ancient Greece.  
> .  
> Paragraph between ._._._. are (as per usual) reverie.

**Chapter 1. Olive Tree and the Sun**

Pitch black.

.

A sound of dawdling liquid drop on a puddle echoes in its long intervals. The very unnerving gap in between drips only brings the starkness and the depthless void of the scene.

.

Drip.

.

Scuttling sound and tiny quick squeaks of rodents bounce off the walls.

.

Drip.

.

A distant noise of busy market and thick clunk-clunk of hand-pulled carts rolling along (the epitome of life and its liveliness) seem so far away, like that belongs to someone else entirely or some distant other world.

.

Drip.

.

A muffled conversation of someone bartering and quarreling registers. But it is nothing unusual; maybe someone is getting an unsanctioned visitor. Good for them. The under the table tête-à-tête haggle continues for a few more moments. And soon a jangling clangs of metal rings.

.

Drip.

.

Ear numbing loud scraping sound of metal door resounds. Too close. Odd. Maybe it’s for next one over. Huh…didn’t know there was someone on the other side of this wall.

.

Drip.

.

A series of hushed footsteps on murky puddle becomes closer. Eyelids are too heavy and head is buzzing.

.

Drip.

As soon as the other, heavier set of, footsteps walk away into the distance, after the jarring groan of metal shutting close, a person rushes over and kneels down in front of a prisoner.

An emaciated man — with his head hung low, shackled on all four, each arm is pulled to opposite directions, the flesh around both wrists marred, caked in dark dried blood and thick rust from the heavy cuffs — fares his shallow breaths, only just.

“I beg of you, cease this,” says the visitor in a hushed shaky voice in deep agony, swallowing the tears. Recognizing the voice, damp dark curls barely manages to lift his head, trembling hard.

“…took you long enough,” says the prisoner, his voice rough from disuse and exhaustion, though he is well aware that it must have cost the visitor a fortune just to visit him like this.

The visitor desperately cups the prisoner’s haggard face with both hands as if he is handling the most precious object, “you must tell them.”

Tomorrow is the sentencing day. The prisoner gives a faint smile between his labored breaths.

“That’s all I have been doing,” the dark curls tosses the words coolly between strained breaths, “and it’s not going to change,” adds pulling the edge of his lips upwards. That little movement looks perilously toilsome.

“Helios!! Please---!” the visitor pleads, tears welling up in his eyes, his thumbs tracing the lines of the dark curls’ cheekbone.

Helios' breaths become harsh and rough, wheezing. Then the prisoner presses his chapped lips on the visitor’s thumb. Even that small gesture appears to be too much for the dark curls.

“Come closer,” says Helios, exhaling out the words and musters a smile as much as his atrocious state can manage, he heaves his chest as if to dredge some strength up before continuing the words, “and hold me.”

The visitor immediately knees the cobble stone floor and gets closer to him, pressing his upper body flush against the prisoner, getting some of the weight off of Helios. A faint sigh of relief automatically escapes the dark curls lips, quivering from the sensation of warmth from whom he madly, hopelessly longed for. His head sways gently leaning against on the visitor’s shoulder.

Two stay that way for a while as if the time has slowed. Their chests breathing against each other. There is no need for words.

“The last time you call me by that…,” Helios takes in a short exhale, “was when I broke the olive oil vase…,” a dry cough, a wheezing inhale interrupt his words, "over your transcript.”

The visitor manages to chuckle a little and kisses Helios’ hair. A long ragged sigh of relief brushes against the visitor’s shoulder.

“Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine,” says the visitor with bated breath, his voice damp as he holds back his tears.

A low hum vibrates through the shrunken chest cavity. Both men know what is going through the prisoner’s head. Simply breathing together, holding each other this close, the visitor is in no hurry. A few cycles of labored inhales and exhales run through him then, “Elio,” says the prisoner with devotion and reverence.

The visitor grits his teeth to muffle his throaty lament, pressing his cheek against Helios’ and calls _his_ name, “Elaía.”

**The Birth of It all | The Gift-Giving Contest | Athens, Greece**

According to Greek mythology, the creation of the olive tree was the result of a contest between Athena, goddess of Wisdom & the daughter of Zeus, and Poseidon, god of the Sea & Zeus' brother.

Poseidon coveted earthly kingdoms and so claimed the possession newly built city in Attica (*the historical region of Greece), driving his trident into the Athenian Acropolis which became a well of salt water. Later, Athena came to town and took it in a very peaceful way calling Cecrops, the first King of Athens, as a witness. Athena, by striking a rock with her spear, made an olive tree spring, right next to the well. Poseidon, in anger, challenged the goddess, but Zeus intervened and ordered the formation of a divine tribunal to decide which of the two gods should be enshrined in the city.

The city would then be named after the god or goddess who gave the citizens the most precious, useful and divine gift. Thus, the tribunal formed by the Olympic deities. After listening to the testimony of Cecrops, the gods decided to side with Athena. It was determined that it was she who had the right to own the land because she had given the city the greatest gift: the first olive tree, an offering signifying fruitfulness and peace. Thenceforth, the city adopted the name of Athens and the olive tree planted by Athena was revered for centuries in the Acropolis symbolizing the victory.

Olive trees, ἐλαία [elaía] in Greek, “Oliver” in Modern English, are shallow rooted and require a well-drained soil. They need a subtropical climate and do best with mild winters and long, warm, and dry summers, its branches and leaves always reaching for the Sun. Sun, Helios (*one of its many variations) in Greek, “Elio” in Modern English, fatefully shines down its smile throughout the Mediterranean region nine months on average in a given year.

As far as the archaeology goes, the following is the very first of their timeless saga.

.

“How _dare_ you look upon the noble without permission?”

As the rolls of scrolls fall to the ground, the blond quickly kneels down low, almost touching his forehead to the floor.

“Anchises, stop!” a young man pleads rushing over in front of an old man who is about to slap the prostrating man, “he was only getting me the books."

Anchises gives the young man a light bow and takes a couple of steps, to stand next to the young man. The young man has the typical feature of the Greek male: tanned marble glowy skin, slender figure, and dark curly hair.

“What do they call you?” asks the young man.

“I’m called Elaía, vἐαv dominus (*Ancient Greek: young (male) master),” answers the blond lowering his head more.

“Olive tree. Huh–,” mutters Helios under his breath.

“It was given by my master, vἐαv dominus.”

The young man tips his chin a little mulling over what he just told for a moment, and “Please rise,” Helios states gently.

Yet Elaía lowers his head more.

“Elaía, rise. Let me take a look at you.”

Elaía hesitantly and reluctantly rises to his knees and places his open palms on his thighs, intentionally keeping his gaze to the ground.

“Oh, by Zeus—,” the dark curls spits the word tartly and gets close to kneel in front of Elaía.

Anchises rushes close to get hold of the young man but the dark curls snaps at him firmly, “leave us!”

Anchises opens his mouth in a protest but bows his head low and soon leaves the room. The blond’s gaze is fixed on the floor, though he is now sitting upright properly.

“Wow—,” says the young man in pure awe, “it’s like the sea.”

That is when the blond’s gaze meet the dark curls for the first time.

“Dominus?”

“Your eyes—,” Helios’ head tilts lightly, his eyes almost twinkling with keen interest and awe with a small smile on his lips, “they are like the ocean.”

Up close, the young man has tight dark luscious ringlets like the rest of the _proper_ Greek people with light-coppery skin tone. He is on the thin side but from overall constitution anyone can easily tell he has been well-fed and groomed as an aristoi (*high (noble) born) off-spring should. His limbs are a bit lanky showing that the young master is still growing.

In Elaía’s entire life, there was only one other person who looked at him the very way this young man is: as a living, breathing person and a _human being_ , not an exotic property to be gawked at.

.

The luxurious see-through fabric billows with the wind. The floor of the room is strewn with an unrolled scroll after another. In the corner where the ornate lounge chair is a pile of Olives, a half-eaten piece of torn out bread next to a larger loaf sat on the small table, with two almost emptied wine cups. Different types of clothing are carelessly thrown on the floor making an unmistakable trail that is leading to the bed.

.

Quiet sensual moans and hushed erotic groans bounce off the colorfully painted walls.

The dark curls of the young man are brushed back, his head resting on the pillow, his long eye lashes casting shadows on his sculpted cheekbone. With his hazel eyes gently closed, he presses his lips on the sun-seared skin. The young man’s arms are hooked under and through the broader torso, forearms aligned with the well-defined scapula, each of his hands holding the blond’s shoulder tight, finger pads ravenously pressing on the flesh.

The young man’s lips nibble gently on the blond’s earlobe while two bodies undulate together. His pink tongue peaks out and licks the shell of the blond’s ear. A throaty growl gets muffled as the blond exhales.

The blond pushes his palms on the pillow bracketing Helios' head, raising his upper body, without changing their rhythm. And the young man hands innately trace down the back and flow over to his pectoral then drape over the blue eyes’ neck in one smooth motion. Helios' fingers draw the line from the back of the blond’s neck cupping his face. Their eyes meet as their bodies rock together like waves of the calm sea. Their chests rise and fall in unison.

The blue eyes brings his lips down to the young man and lays a kiss on him, just below his lower jaw, nudging the dark curls’ head up a little. The hazel eyes lips gape ever so slightly and let out a sultry low whine. Uhn–, Uhn–, Uhn–, the young man moans into the blond’s ear (just plenty loud enough) with his face colored with pure ecstasy.

.

“When can you come back?” asks Helios, tracing his fingertips on Elaía’s chest just below his slave necklace.

“It’s…,” the blond trails off.

“I know,” answers the young man with a small defeated sigh, “I understand,” Helios rolls over with a grunt.

And he cannot help but to bellow another sigh.

“I wish my mother isn’t so apprehensive about…,” remarks Helios, messing his own head.

“Well, you are of a high born after all. Your duty is to….”

“What?” Helios shoots the word rather cuttingly, “Take a suitor to continue this status?”

Elaía exhales quietly then sits up slowly on the bed.

A pause hangs between them heavily. The silence from the slave only confirms that they already had this conversation before.

It is customarily accepted for a person of nobility to own a slave as a paiderastia (*a socially acknowledged romantic, often sexual, relationship between an adult male and a younger male usually in his teens). Although Elaía was opposite of a pre-pubescent boy, Helios hated the notion of making Elaía as his on-the-side lover while appearing to be heterosexual nobleman.

“I know,” says Helios perking up, with a ‘I have an idea’ tone, “I heard about this place called Pompeii, and there, I can declare you free and we could get mar—.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Elaía replies quietly, “You know what they require.”

Helios groans with a frown, messing his own hair in frustration, “a head of household.”

Another silence drapes over them. By now, the two feel as though they are going in circle. To figure out a way to be together, as it always has been impossible, is like a fantasy they already knew the answer to but something they can never let go of hopping and dreaming about it coming true.

“Wait,” the young man quickly sits upright, “does that mean you’ve thought about it?” leaning into Elaía shoulder. Elaía quietly wonders how Helios doesn’t give himself a whiplash each time he does that. The blue eyes smiles, and nuzzles his cheek against the young man.

“Oh–, you did!” says Helios breaking out into a happy laughs, “yes, you did,” continues the hazel eyes poking Elaía’s ribs teasingly, “you love me that much, huh?”

The blond finally laughs ridding himself free from worries.

“My Elaía seriously pondered about getting married with me!” says Helios to himself, leaning into the blue eyes kisses.

.

**A couple of days after the arrest | Dungeon**

“Young master.”

“Samouel, did my mother send you?”

“No."

“I know what you are going to say.”

“Then why do you insist?” Samouel asks glumly, though his tone neutral.

“I rather die than live out my life a lie.”

“What of Elaía? Do you not think of him?”

Helios clicks his tongue sourly, “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Do you think Elaía wishes for you to die like this?”

Helios does not answer but gets up and faces the dungeon wall.

“They are going to make an example out of you, young master,” says Samouel grimly.

Helios sighs deep through his nose, setting his jaw, “I gathered as much.”

“I have arranged a bargain with one of my dear cousin, Avvella, she’s going to take him with her, to the city.”

The tears well up in Helios’ eyes, his throat bobs as he swallows hard, “…thank you, Samouel.”

No more words are exchanged. Helios reaches his hand and the older man takes hold of his with both hands, giving a warm squeeze. And Samouel takes in an audible inhale through his nose, “do you have any message for him?”

Helios blinks once with the soundless rise and fall of the chest.

._._._.

_Live your dream of becoming one of the best scribe in whole Greece._

With his own words echoing in his head, he recalls the moment of their past: Helios hands something into Elaía’s hand and gives a little squeeze. Elaía’s face expression indicates he knows what it is without even opening his palm and his lips gape a little.

_See the world with your beautiful eyes. And write a story, as you have been sharing with me, as you have been reading to me. About your travels, with whom you met, where you visited and went, the exotic foods you tasted, the folklores and legends you heard._

_The wind in your hair, warm gravel under your feet._

_._._._._

A pause settles after Helios’ voice. A sad grin comes on the young noble born’s face. Then, a slow single shake of his head follows.

Samouel fills his lungs, his face showing doleful yet unspoken understanding, dips his head as an acknowledgement. Then he presses his lips together, making a thin line before stepping away and leaves the cell. The door closes behind him with a slow loud thud.

Although Samouel has arranged a deal with the guard to make his young master's stay more comfortable, Helios' insistence on his world view — that love should be respected regardless of social classes — turned him into a martyr for bureaucrats of Athens.

The young man is lashed and whipped then stripped of his noble clothes in public. The torture continues as Samouel warned him; Helios grits his teeth each time he is being made an example of. Elaía, as requested by Helios (he made Elaía vow not to come to the square) before his imprisonment, keeps himself inside.

.

**Sentencing day | A montage of two simultaneous scenes |**

Withered Helios is being dragged out to the center square.

On the other side of the acropolis,  
heavily hooded in disguise,  
Elaía’s back is gently pushed by a palm of a woman, Avvella.

The town folks yell and curse at Helios while his hazel eyes are unfocused,  
his body barely standing, motionless.

Elaía gets himself on to the donkey pulled cart.

The orator announcing Helios’ final sentence and citizens cheer.

A single “eyaht!” with the whip of the reign,  
the donkey’s ear turns sideways and the old cart begins to roll,  
making loud rattling sound.  
Elaía keeps his gaze toward the direction of town square.

Stones and broken potteries are thrown at Helios, flaying his skin on his arms and back.  
His scalp peels and bursts with bright red blood.  
Bigger stones knock him to the ground and the crowd gets closer, surrounding him.

Wooden wheels tumble-clunk-clunking against the cobble stone  
fade away to the distance.

.

**Some length of years later | Somewhere near the ocean**

An old man with silver-blond hair with full beard is standing in front of an old olive tree. His blue eyes are casting far over on the glistening waves of Mediterranean ocean. The warm breeze caresses his skin feather-light, carding through his hair. The bright blazing Sun shines down all things on earth, under a clear blue sky. The silver haired man tilts his head upward slowly, closing his eyes. The sunlight turns to a translucent red glass, inside his shut eyes. He takes in a breath slowly, filling up his lungs. The lazy lapping sound of ocean waves comes to focus.

._._._.

Gulp, gulp, gulp.

An older man, white haired with a square face, finishes drinking from an earthen cup and wipes his forearm on his lips.

“I thank you for your kindness, young man.”

The boy with bright blue eyes and the smooth golden locks smiles, taking the cup.

“So, what are you called?” askes the old man with the kind eyes.

A quizzical expression comes on his face as if he doesn’t understand what the old man mean.

“Ah—,” says the old man with the look of understanding, “do you tend to these olive trees?”

The blue eyed boy nods slowly with a shy smile on his face.

“Then, I shall call you _Elaía_.”

“E..laía?”

“Yes, it means ‘olive tree’,” the old man smiles offering his hand, “now, take me to your adults.”

The little boy hesitates a little but his little fingers slowly reaches for the old man’s callused hand.

._._._.

Elaía smiles as he opens his eyes. He then takes a couple of unhurried steps around the tree and bends down. He grunts under his breath as he is no longer a young man. His body obeys though with a bit of difficulty.

The very olive tree where the young boy met his master who brought him to Athens, Greece, is now grown into a thick vines of old tree with mature branches and bountiful leaves. He runs his hand on the earth and makes a shallow hole. Then he takes out something from his pocket and buries it with an utmost care and respect.

The old man takes a moment before he lets out a tempered content sigh. With a gentle hum at the bottom of his throat, the silver-haired man quietly presses his palm on the freshly covered little earth dome. And he fills his lungs before his utters a soft,

“Cor Cordium, Elio.”

.

.

.

*

> Elaía of Mellitus (later so named by Modern Archaeologists) is remembered and revered as the first doulos (*slave as a whole) ever to free himself and became a scribe, who played an integral part of recording the long lineage of the Ionian School. Elaía devoted his life on transcribing the works of Heraclitus in various languages. When the Latin became the official tongue of Roman Empire, Elaía wrote his last transcript on the finest clay, imported from Asia Minor. This book miraculously survived the test of time under water since the ship carrying it sank while it was on its way to the _Library of Alexandria_. The earthen pottery box that held this copy under water was sealed completely when deepsea divers found it. It was said to have a trace of olive oil. When the restoration was finished, the dedication read: _For Elio_.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –a friendly FYI: the Ancient Greek precedes Latin and Sanskrit. :)    
>  –would you like to guess who the white haired man was? (the one who gave Elaía his name)    
>  –a song recommendation for the town square montage: _Remember_ by Josh Groban/Tanja Tzrovska.    
> 


	2. Cicada

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating drop: **G**  
> .  
> –the regional names, school names, local foods are real.  
> –Ehrr…, why this chapter (and the next) in this AU was drabbled out the way they did (present day as a past-tense and Ancient Greek day as a present-tense) I didn’t understand then but… I sorta kinda think I do now. ... Hint: me=nerd.  
> –a bit of fourth-wall break in the middle

**Chapter 2.** **Cicada**

**Present day | New Archaeological Site, Athens, Greece**

The area was expertly divided in grids. With the help of Octocopter drones, the survey team was able to clear the area and set up several tents in a record time, before the academic team and experts arrived. Students from University of Leicester and National and Kapodistrian University of Athens were busying their delicate movement of unearthing the structures and artifacts within the site.

Oliver, wearing his straw hat with two top buttons opened on his shirt, walked over to the edge of the site, where the stump of an old tree was found. Upon Elio’s insistence, Oliver had a cooling scarf around his neck. ‘It’s a smart temperature-regulating nano fabric,’ his Alpha husband said.

“Professor Perlman!” someone called from behind him, “Doctor Perlman!!”

Oliver turned on his heels and gave a soft ‘yes?’ expression towards the owner of the voice.

“My graduates have already surveyed there,” one of the renowned historian from UK said to the omega professor.

Oliver gave a nod with a small grin with a single wave of his hand of acknowledgement. He then walked around the tree trunk towards where it was facing the ocean and ran his fingers on the dirt. Oliver couldn’t understand why he was doing this. _You heard PhD Heys. This plot square was surveyed already_ , Oliver thought to himself. But something inexplicable was pulling him towards it. The blond dug around the area for a while, exposing the root of now-fossilized olive tree. With his blue eyes keenly focused, Oliver stroke his brush along its intricate structure. He was at it for an hour and that was when his brush revealed a tip of something that should not be there. Oliver attentively broke up the earth around the small object, after changing into his precision tools. When the final stroke of his brush dusted away the loose dirt, a small hand-carved figurine appeared.

He took out his foldable meter stick and placed it around the object. Then, a flash. Oliver busied his thumbs on his hand-held device to upload the photo, on the cloud server of the current project's digital archive. The app automatically attached the item number with its time stamp.

.

**Present Day, in the meanwhile | Avissynias Square, Athens, Greece**

Elio and his two children were holding respectable local foods in their hands. Ellis, a gyros wrap with extra tzatziki, Olive, thiples which kept bending to the side since it was bigger than his little hands could manage. Elio, after tossing the last piece of dolmathakia (*rice & herbs wrapped in grape leaves) in his mouth, gently helped his son by rearranging the heavily honeyed rolled pastry. Olive gave him a wide smile, thanking him. Ellis, of course, started fussing over Olive's sticky hands with moist towelettes. The head of household chuckled under his breath, feeling a deep sense of pride and joy.

.

They led their way into one of the shops in Monastiraki Flea Market where expertly crafted replica of _Helen of Troy_ trinkets and _Trojan Horse_ figurines were in display.

“Wow, look at these Papa,” exclaimed Ellis, putting her wet wipes in her pocket.

“Yes, dolce bambina. Exquisite, aren’t they?”

Ellis politely asked the shop keep whether she could take a picture. Olive squeezed Elio’s hand and the dark curls responded with low affectionate hum.

“Papa, cos’è questo? asked Olive quietly pointing at the little key chain.

“Ah––, cucciolo. It’s really nice, isn’t it?” answered Elio with his trademark smile.

It was a 3D cicada expertly carved out of synthetic amber.

.

**Cicada | the myth and folklore**

Cicada(s) /sɪˈkɑːdə/ or /sɪˈkeɪdə/ lives in temperate to tropical climates where their large size and unique sound makes them well known. They typically live in trees, feeding on watery sap from xylem tissue and laying their eggs in a slit in the bark. Most cicadas are cryptic, singing at night to avoid predators.

Though cicadas have life cycles that can vary from one to nine or more years as underground larvae, their emergence above ground as adults is not synchronized. Among the most fascinating and best known are the 17-year cicada (often erroneously called the 17-year locust) and the 13-year cicada (Magicicada).

Regardless of annual or periodic type, cicadas emerge just to spend the short summer for their love rituals before dying, after spending most of their lives underground as nymphs. What makes more interesting is that nymphs has to go through a grueling transformation to become mature adults before even being able to serenade love songs to find their mate.

Cicadas have been used in folk medicines, as religious and monetary symbols, and as an important source of food. Their song once was considered to forecast weather changes.

The cicada appears in the mythology, literature, and music of many cultures, including that of American Indians. The notable symbolism is that of rebirth and immortality shared not just one culture but several, including the Ancient Greece throughout Greeko-Roman era, Hittite, Egypt, China and all the way to Australia’s early aboriginal history.

Maybe it was pre-destined for their love to be short-lived like that of cicadas' summer life. Well~, it could also be one of roundabout explanations why Aciman’s Oliver took almost twenty years to find his way back to Elio: his Sun.

.

**Eons Ago | Athens, Greece**

Helios walks to the library without Anchises, weaving pass the bustling life of acropolis. Of his 17 years, he’s never shied away from being around the city folk. An attitude, or a naïve curiosity as his mother calls it, a high born should not have. Helios has always loved and admired all different ways of life, even that of butchery, laundry, and whittling. One of his favorite activities is to swing by the bakery and taste the fresh-out-of-the-oven bread. Today isn’t an exception. He doubles his pace as he nibbles the last biteful in his mouth when he comes near the building.

Minding the prying eyes of people in vicinity who are poring over his presence, Helios chooses the service entrance where servants and slaves use. After passing the threshold, his pace comes to a sudden halt as if the nerve he tucked away resurfaced abruptly. Then the young high born takes tense strides to the right first, then to the left. Helios runs his palm over, from the nape of his neck to the top, and heaves his chest as the anxiety keeps building up in himself.

When he _finally_ yet gingerly steps in, Elaía is standing in front of a carved stone podium, as usual, sorting through old transcripts. The sun filtering through thick off-white linen hung near the ceiling makes Elaía’s golden locks gleam. At the end of gently casted eyes, Elaía’s aureate lush eyelashes cast a light gradient on his skin like two feathery wings. Helios’ breath hitches. Unlike the dark curls’ own, Elaía’s fair skin glints translucently, though it has tanned spots and sun-seared lines that marks his social class. If he could, Helios thinks, he would reach out and run his fingertips on them for hours. It would feel like the softest living thing he’d ever touched. The young Greek tempers a sigh, almost like he’s lamenting. And Helios carries on and takes in an inaudible, shuddering breath. His body knows him better than he does. Because all he desperately wants right now is for time to stop. So he’d stay like this, just so, until the very last breath of his life leaves his body.

But Viminia made her little brother promise, yesterday after supper, that Helios is to accompany her to the silk room in the market today before sun down; to help her pick out some imported fabrics for her new dress. By the position of the Sun, he cannot stay like this forever. So Helios begrudgingly brings himself out, from behind the shelves.

“Young master,” Elaía bows his head.

With a little flinch that comes out involuntarily at how he is acting around him (a stranger, someone not so close to Elaía), “I had some trouble understanding,” says Helios quickly rummaging through his ruck sack he is wearing across his shoulder, “Cuneiform in this book,” while (rather clumsily and uncoordinatedly) taking out a tablet and pointing his two fingers.

Elaía runs his gaze smoothly, tilting his chin a little at where Helios is indicating, and quickly gives himself a concealed smile. Elaía knows that Helios’ knowledge is beyond the level of normal highborn youth. From all the books the young man read, those lectures he attended, of which both are aware, the fair-skinned slave is aware Helios is asking something he already knows.

“Ah—, I often confuse myself with the similar one also, young master,” offers Elaía calmly instead with a modulated tone, “here, I received the very thing that may assist you with your question a few days ago,” and walks to the side wall where new arrivals are.

Then, the blond pauses. Helios is not following him. Elaía turns his head with his eyebrows gently raised.

“I know you are just indulging me.”

“Dominus?” Elaía quietly swivels on his feet to face Helios.

The young high born puffs up his cheeks, his mouth forms a cute little pout, “Haven’t I asked you enough times not to call me by that?” Helios tosses the words sourly.

Elaía bows his head in a sincere apology, “forgive me, (well-deserved one).”

“Ugghh—, damn the rules, I curse the gods!”

Elaía’s head snaps up with wide eyes and rushes over to Helios, “please—,” as if to hush him while looking around frantically to make sure no one else is around to hear the young man uttering those words, “you mustn’t,” Elaía pleads.

The air around them pauses. Elaía soon realizes what just happened. His fingers are lightly wrapping around Helios’ wrist and making full contact with the back of his hand. Elaía is touching me, is all Helios is thinking right at this moment. The fair-skinned slave quickly lets go of his fingers as if he touched a burning metal. Just as immediately, Helios’ hand swiftly chases after it. That is the moment their eyes finally meet. Elaía’s blue eyes are quivering, taking in the intense gaze of those hazel eyes. Hearing his own heartbeat in his eardrums, the young high born keeps his gaze locked on Elaía’s. The time stands still, and everything — the bustling sound of the market, people walking by, animal noises, and all — fades. It’s just them two.

When Elaía heaves his chest, Helios tightens his hold on the blond’s hand before he leans in. And his forehead lands on Elaía’s collarbone in slow motion. A tempered sigh escapes through the young man’s nose while the fair-skinned slave’s lips part with an inaudible gasp.

“Is it because I’m 17 and not yet a head of household?” Helios pains out the words, barely more than a whisper.

“…Young master—.”

A groan like sigh streams between Helios’ gritted teeth as he frowns.

“Awh, for once, address me by my name,” though the words are in the form of high born ordering down to slaves, his low voice implores with deep anguish.

Two stand there rooted in the middle of the hall, only a foot apart, Helios’ forehead just touching Elaía’s collarbone, his weight barely on it. Afternoon-sun shining in glows into a thicker tinge of orange, not forgetting to bear the tiny floating speckles in mid-air in its all loving, all-encompassing paths.

Muffled sounds of busy life going about their days resonates far in distance through the stone walls. Not yet, both protest in unspoken agreement.

Soundlessly, Elaía’s other hand slowly comes up as he indolently leans his cheek down on Helios’ head. His callused fingers tremble as he allows himself to run his hand on the young man’s hair. The scent of frankincense and cardamom rise as the fair-skinned slave’s fingers land over those unruly ringlets, in benevolence and admiration.

At his touch, Helios buries his face deep into Elaía’s chest, muffling his sharp cough-like sob. When Elaía’s large palm finally cups the base of Helios’ skull with a gentle hold, Helios encircles his arms around him, his feet closing the distance between them at last.

“Elio—,” Elaía breathes out the young man’s name, like a prayer, bringing Helios’ body close against his chest; almost as if he is scooping the young high born close into his soul.

Helios’ hand bunches up the rough fabric of Elaía’s back, trembling yet with resolve, as a ragged exhale outflows through his softly parted lips.

.

When Helios visits Elaía the next time, a few days later, the hazel eyes finds the fair skinned slave being flogged with a thick lash mercilessly by one of the working class of the library.

“STOP!!!” yells Helios, pushing the arm of the periokoi (*Ancient Greek: “dirty feet”, dwellers-round-about, citizens in general, working class) up and away.

“Dominus,” says the angry periokoi whom Helios has never met, lowering his head, panting.

Helios tosses couple of silver coins on the floor, “I’m sure it is more than enough for your trouble at the pub.”

.

**Elaía’s quarter | near the Library**

Having seen his own mother lash Manfradi whenever something angered or agitated her, Helios knows a thing or two about how to tend to the wound. Thanks to Mafalda who has always been a great cook and house-help, the young man can gather the things he needs from everyday household items.

Elaía bites down his hiss as Helios tends to the ripped flesh on his upper back. The dark curls doesn’t ask why the blond was being punished. Nor Elaía mentions anything about it.

Before Helios takes the oil-soaked linen with crushed herbs out of the bowl, he hands the blond a small object. Elaía remembers that Helios’ household always gets a xenoi (*Ancient Greek: non-resident foreigners) trader’s visit every month who almost always enchants most of high-borns with goods from around the world.

“Of all the things you could have, this is what you chose,” a gentle chuckle escapes Elaía’s nose, almost like an exhale, looking at the little ornament on his palm.

Helios unrolls the cloth by using only his fingertips and lifts it gently, before placing it on the angry skin of the blond's back.

“I don’t know,” mumbles Helios with a shrug, “it was the least gaudy.”

“Least gaudy?” retorts the blond, with a quirk on his lips, and he jolts a little as the cloth touches his injured skin, “this is Zhou dynasty Red Jade.”

“You know what I mean," Helios clicks his tongue, and continues in a quiet yet nonchalant tone, "besides it is small enough for me to carry everywhere,” taking it from Elaía’s palm then places it inside the pouch hung around his neck.

“Do you know the meaning of Cicada?” asks the blue eyes warmly, taking the young man's hand.

A pause.

A blink.

"You...," begins the dark curls as if he suddenly lost all his ability to speak, stunned, as Elaía gently runs his fingertips on Helios' skin.

His big hazel eyes blinks a couple of times, his face plastered with an expression that Helios’ brain is having trouble processing what is happening to him. A few more moments passes by, and Elaía’s large hand has carried on exploring the young mater’s hand and fingers.

"…You… you are holding my hand."

The blond hums low, not looking up.

A small smile comes on the young man's face. Yet it quickly disappears and is replaced with thin lines of frown, in disbelief, in shock.

Elaía brings his other hand and gently flips Helios' hand over, with his soft gaze tracing it, as if he is inspecting a priceless artifact. Then the blue eyes slowly aligns his fingers with Helios'.

"You are gonna be a lot taller," the fair-skinned slave says quietly, and an inaudible tiny inhale holds a pause before he says, "Elio."

The entirety of Helios freezes completely. _Elaía said my name. He just called me by my name_. The young man blinks hard once with his own voice echoing in his head.

The blue eyes' head tilts minutely as his other hand brushes over the back of the young man's hand. And, in a delicate yet stilly movement, he interlaces their fingers together.

The young man’s lips are the first thing to come back to life. And they form a hesitant slow smile. Then, with a quick dump of his chest, his smile widens. With a light flare of his nostrils, Helios takes in a long trembling breath that vibrates all over his body.

Helios feels relived and is glad, _no!_ , ecstatic. Because–, because Elaía voluntarily calling him by Helios’ name and allowing his indulgence to touch means that he is finally _at long last_ letting himself, no, no, no, accepting the dark curls' affection for him.

The young high-born tests his theory and gives their interlaced hands a squeeze. To that, the fair-skinned slave offers him a closed lipped smile. The hazel eyes mouth falls open into a wide smile and Elaía’s eyes dart over his face slow with utmost adoration pouring out of them.

“Does this make you happy?” the blond asks softly.

Helios nods his head once, then three times more like a toddler. They both know why Helios is happy. It’s not just about Elaía holding his hand. The young master is blissfully happy at the fact the blond understood the very reason why the hazel eyes chose the carved cicada, of all the finest thing the young man could have.

.

.

.

\-----------------------------------------------------

[ Chapter Deleted Scene ]

**Back to the Future**

Oliver walked inside, keys quietly jangling in his palm, covered in different shades of rust-orange dust on his clothes, as the sun just disappeared below the horizon. He found all of his family snuggled up together in the very traditional-Greek-design bed. Olive was fast asleep on his back, his head nestled on Elio’s chest, his hair on his forehead little damp. One of Elio’s hands was threading his son's golden locks, his palm gently cupping the side of his head. Ellis was curled up, her back flush against Elio’s side, with her father’s other arm tucked under her neck as a pillow, their fingers loosely interlaced.

Oliver looped the strap of his shoulder bag up off his shoulder and over his head as his eyes found a little note: Elio’s careless scribbles, Oliver always loved.

\ ‘Olive thought you’d like this one. and I whole-heartedly agree! –E’ \

Under it, a carved small red amber cicada keychain quietly sat.

\-----------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. cos’è questo: [Italian] what is this?,   
> ii. dolce bambina: [Italian] endearing term for a daughter, sweet baby girl,  
> iii. cucciolo: [Italian] endearing term for a son, puppy,   
>  (item ii & iii. represent deeper connection of a parent and a child, well... according to my research, that is…) .  
> .  
> –Octocopter drones are designed for heavy-gear lift that has recently been commercialized but quite (really, really) expensive. I just fast-forwarded its wide-every-day-economical application in this fic. (as the 3D-printing did.)   
> –Cuneiform(or Sumerian cuneiform): one of the earliest systems of writing.  
> –Zhou dynasty: Ancient China (1046– 256 BC before Qin dynasty) *the archaeological evidence shows that the terracotta soldiers of Qin Shi Huang’s tomb may have been made by the hands of Ancient Greeks. (amazing, right? talk about technology & craftsmanship trade!)   
> –the earliest red jade cicada is from China dating around fifth century BC. It’s a real artifact.  
> .  
> –yesss––, I committed a self-indulgent cross-over between my own fic.  
> –And this time I did ask for permission/consent, explicitly. For the sake of their schedule, I shall keep that author’s identity under wraps. So for those of you miraculously figured out ‘whom,’ be a sweet sweet darling and don’t go pestering. Pretty please.  
> .  
> –an irrelevant detail: had piano solo of _The Man I Love_ by G. Gershwin in an infinite-loop while I was writing this chapter. (if any of you watched _Westworld_ season 2, ep2, it’s the song Clementine plays for Logan’s private demonstration scene. *do I hear soft 'ah~'s?, giggles*  
> 


	3. Viminia, the River Styx, Blood, and an Unbreakable Oath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –college & hospital names are real.  
> –the detail of this fic’s unbreakable oath & Aphrodite’s blessing are all me. *kuh hmm, shifty eyes* it’s uh… one of my _bs_ -ories. Not based on any real reference. So I beg thee to refrain thyself from searching for any related short stories, as there are none. Forgive me! *chibi flop*   
> .  
> Paragraph between ._._._. are (as per usual) reverie.

**Chapter 3.** **Viminia, the River Styx, Blood, and an Unbreakable Oath**

**The Most Recent Goodbye | Crema, Italy**

A young woman was lying on a bed; her chest rose and fell as she took one shallow breath after another. On her bedside, a guy was asleep holding her hand, his head on his forearm. She turned her head quietly and slowly blinked her eyes. With the gentle squeeze of her hand, the man came out of his cat-nap with a start, his dark curls swaying.

“Sorry,” said the young early teen, softly.

The mess of dark curls waved side to side gently as the man shook his head, rubbing at his eyes.

“Go home, Elio. Get some sleep,” offered the young lady with hoarse voice.

“Nuh, uh,” countered Elio under his breath with a light shake of his head, rubbing at the back of his neck, “did you have a bad dream? would you like some ice chips?” continued trying to wake up.

Her doctors from Vittore Buzzi Children’s Hospital in Milan said that it would be best for her to spend her remaining days in the comforts of her home. Elio came back to Crema just to be by her side, despite it was during his school year in _Conservatoria di Musica G. Verdi di Milano_.

“Elio?”

“Hmm?”

“Play it for me,” she glanced her eyes slightly.

Elio paused. With a small dip of his head, “alright,” Elio turned his torso, slanting his upper body to reach his arm out, still holding the young girl’s hand, and his long fingers grabbed the acoustic guitar that was leaning against the cabinet.

Elio gently peeled the young Vimini’s hand and moved it up on his forearm as he placed the guitar on his lap. The young early-teen gave him a small smile and slid her fingers on over his arm a little before she squeezed (in a thanks for his considerate gesture), with a slight incline of her chin. He smiled, quietly.

As he gently plucked the strings, getting himself comfortable with the instrument, and leaned a bit forward. Then, his head turned and bent slightly forward. The young woman’s palm softly lands on Elio’s curls.

Bach Capriccio in B flat major, BMV 992 I Arioso Adagio.

Elio’s slender fingers skillfully strumed the strings, creating calm and soothing melody. Vimini breathed out slow, her eyes blinking sluggishly. When the classical piece was done, letting the last note ring until the sting came to a still, Elio played 80s pop songs. He started with Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” At his expertly balladic sounds, the young teenager’s face bloomed with a fond smile as Elio began singing the lyrics. She hadn’t smiled that wide since her hospitalization three months ago.

.

**Eons ago | Elaía’s quarter | Ancient Greece**

“Domina,” Elaía prostrates low immediately.

Her natural brown curls gets revealed, as the long slender fingers elegantly unhood the cloak away from her head. The fabric glides down her luscious curls and onto her shoulders, effortlessly. Her well-tended locks glint dark auburn under the ray of late morning Sun. She frowns slightly of how abruptly the blond bowed down to the ground, abandoning everything he was doing. In his own residence.

She clicks her tongue quietly as she watches Elaía making his body as small and miniscule as possible. Just like her young brother, Viminia has never condone treating another human being differently, because of the social class. Especially, a resident-foreigner such as Elaía; if his fate were to have aligned with the stars, he probably was destined to be one of the great Greek scholars to be remembered for generations to come.

Viminia bends down, reaching out her hands, which makes Anchises scowl unobtrusively. She shots him a brief, piercing glance before cupping her palms on Elaía’s shoulders.

“Rise,” she says softly, “please.”

The blond reluctantly gets himself up one foot at a time, keeping his gaze on the floor.

“My young brother was not exaggerating,” she quietly murmurs, smiling softly.

“Domina?”

“Please don’t make me order you to look upon another human being, standing in front of you,” her warm voice cautions tenderly.

The blond blinks a couple of times, bringing his fingers together in front his body.

Viminia lets out tiny muffled huffs, shaking her head a little.

“Elaía.”

“Yes, domina.”

“From now on, you are to address me by my name,” a brief pause, “Viminia,” she ends her request elegantly, beaming.

The blond gasps as his head snaps up a little.

“There you are,” marks Viminia fondly, raising her gaze to meet Elaía’s.

“I am Viminia to you as you are Elaía to me,” she inhales softly, “it shall be so, in my household,” and she takes a light recess, “anywhere else, as long as we are alone,” her voice is so warm and beautifully melodic when she adds, “I shall be your confidant, Viminia.”

Although the democratic society, high-born women (such as Viminia) have less freedom than the free slave. They are not allowed to leave the house during daylight or do business without a chaperone. Hence, the after sun set bartering and hidden away indoor affairs (business or otherwise) have been common with the likes of her kind.

Elaía regards her sensibly. And his throat waves before he answers, “Yes, domina.”

She lets out a single closed lips cough, pulling her chin down a little to her chest, with her gaze on Elaía.

“ye–,” Elaía stammers, not knowing where to put his gaze, but yields to her request, “yes, Vinimia.”

“See? it isn’t so difficult, is it?” she counters affectionately, chuckling casually, “after all, you and I are of same age.”

Anchises clears his throat.

“I am just about had enough of your audacity, Anchises,” she snaps low, only turning her head towards him just over her shoulder.

Anchises dips his head as an apology.

“Just because you are of freed status does not mean you can treat others as if they are lower than you are. How many times have we spoken of this?”

“My sincere apologies,” Anchises lowers his head and top half of his upper body.

“You are forgiven, my dear papákis (*Ancient Greek: dad),” Viminia says coolly.

Anchises brings two whickered chair from the corner and places each down on the floor.

Viminia thanks Anchises while Elaía bows his head to him, taking the chair. The salt-and-peppered haired man curtly dips his head with his lips forming a thin line, as if to let the blond know that the old man still does not entirely approve.

“Now please don’t mind him too much,” says Viminia in soothing tone, straightening her dress as she is making herself comfortable in the chair, “he is quite old-fashioned. Mafalda, Manfradi, and he practically raised me. Us: Helios and I. So, it’s quite understandable that he cannot refrain himself from being over-protective,” adds the high-born brushing the fabric on her upper leg down with her palm,

“Aren’t you, Anchises?”

“Young mina.”

That’s the first time Elaía witnesses Anchises smile.

Viminia courteously dismisses him, by entreating him to come back in a couple of hours, while busying herself with the basket she brought. Grapes, olives, brined lupinis, and on. Anchises helps her lay out the refreshments on the table, before leaving the slave’s quarter. The older man says something about he’s going to make sure no one bothers them during her visit. Viminia simply gives soft chuckles.

.

All his tumultuous 24 years of life, — almost 17 years away from his home city, ever since he was sold to a Greek elder man with untamed white-hair whom he met under the olive tree, — Elaía never had a shadow quite like Helios. Alluring hazel eyes has been capriciously following his every move behind his luxurious dark curls. This young man frequently stood behind the bookshelves, pretending to go through the library stock. Elaía doesn’t remember exactly when it started. But the blue eyes did notice him; not just in the library, but in the lecture hall, in the transcribing chamber, and even in the market. It took this young Greek man almost three full moons to come and ask for assistance. That day, Elaía recalls, all he remembered was him looking up and meeting those gorgeous hazel eyes, for the first time — next to carelessly fallen over scrolls and tablets. They were intricate threads of green, yellow, and gleaming white, weaving through and through in layers, just all hazel, with a small dot in the middle encased in the crystal clear dome. It took the blond’s breath away. And then those two little black dots became a full blown black abyss as Elaía held his gaze.

At the beginning of late flowers’ bloom, the older man could no longer hold back his gravitation towards this young man. Helios tended to his lash wounds. The high born Greek treated the metoikoi (*Ancient Greek: resident foreigner) slave, _him_ — a nobody and a complete stranger —, as his equal. That was the day, Elaía held the young man’s hand; a soft slender hand with the light coppery-color he always envied.

And now?

A huff like exhale and a single throaty low hum resonates from the blond with a bright smile.

.

Helios’s arm is holding onto Elaía’s back, as if for his dear life, while the other hand is cupping the blue eyes’ jaw, kissing him. His closed eyelids flutter and his body oscillates rough, up against the frescoed wall. Elaía lingers his kiss on the young man’s lower lips as he rhythmically rock their bodies together.

“Open those eyes, Elio,” pleads the blond in a low, hushed, sultry whisper, ablaze, panting harshly, continuing to surge their entwined bodies in unison, sweats beading down his face, “let me see you,” and traces his finger pads, gently clawing, along the young man’s outer thigh, of the leg wrapped around his waist.

Helios’ full-blown two black holes roll upwards as his trembling eyelids lift, desperately trying to look into Elaía’s eyes but couldn’t, since the blond steadily thrusts deep into him.

Elaía’s large palm comes up, fingers splayed, and takes hold of Helios’ tilting head, pressing their foreheads together. Their nose tips touch each other’s just so, as the dark curls’ lips fall open, hot breaths escaping. Helios struggles to keep the ball of his standing foot on the smoothed stone floor. The toes curl as if to grip for non-existent balance. Elaía traces the fleshy part of his thumb on Helios’ kiss-swollen, lightly parted lips. At the touch, the young man lips pucker a small kiss before taking hold of it between his lips and making it disappear into his mouth. Moist warm tongue rolls around the blond’s finger. As the young high-born’s cheeks hollow in, the hazel eyes muffles his drawn-out sensual moan, ravenously sucking on the fair-skin’s finger. All teeth grin comes on the blond’s face. Then, the taller man drives his pelvis further up with a growl and Helios’ fingers dig into Elaía’s shoulder.

“Ask me,” says the blond, gently gritting his teeth with lust, “tell me, latreea moo (*my adored one).”

A quickened exhale, “don’t hold back,” says Helios’ licking the length of Elaía’s thumb, with his tongue flat against it, “my fair stallion,” continues the hazel eyes with parched mouth, “go ahead and bound right into me,” Helios barely enunciates the words, making the last syllable sound like [ _mich_ ] as he lets out exasperate all puffy-moan — hah-s and ah–s — through his gaped mouth, at each beat of Elaía’s thrust.

The blue eyes lets out a deep throaty rumble and scoops Helios up, taking a step back. Then the blond brings the dark curls pelvis down with a tilt, towards his lower abdomen, as if to lock the young man’s hip like a puzzle piece with his own, thrusting up deeper. Helios’ head falls back, biting his lower lip, sighing out a rough grunt of intense pleasure, then flings his other arm around the back of the fair skin’s neck.

As the taller man continues the speed with a bit more weight, driving his full length of sizzling edifice, almost out and then all the way into Helios’s in smooth wet welcoming maw, the hazel eyes interlaces his fingers behind Elaía’s neck and leans his upperback up against the wall for support.

“Elaía,” Helios breathes, wetting his kiss-swollen lips.

The end of blond’s lips quirk up at the name.

“Elaía, Elaía, Elaía” repeats the young man breathlessly, tightening the hold on his crossed ankles.

“Yes, my beautiful beast,” Helios’ urges on, tossing his desire up into the air, “do it,” adds bringing his head upright to lean his forehead on Elaía’s, “give me everything. Let the gods envy you.”

The blond pushes Helios’ back flush against the wall, widening his stance so Helios’s body would be secured. Then he places both palms on the sweat-smudged frescoed wall, just above the dark curls head. After a light press of his lips on Helios’ forehead, the taller man ramps up his speed, holding the young man’s gaze.

Steady, potent, and carnal waves continue, as Elaía wordlessly pour out his devout corporeal adoration with his each hard thrust. The blond exhales through clenched teeth and continues the unrelenting speed, as if the blue eyes is literally trying to push his already hard-hammering heart to the brink of its end; being mercilessly ripped into dark crimson shreds. To show Helios, how much he lusts for him, how much he wants him, how much he means to him, and how much he _loves_ him.

Helios is right. Elaía is a wild stallion having it away with everything he has.

“Elaía,” breathes out the blond.

Helios just nods quickly, “I want e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.”

The blue eyes presses his lips desperately on the dark curls’ lips. And with a final heave, he shudders, nuzzling his face against Helios’ temple as he spills every passion into him.

Unable to catch his breath, the blue eyes leans his cheek over Helios’ as the young man cards his fingers tenderly into his damp golden locks. As the hazel eyes slowly and gently massages the scalp, Elaía lays slow open-mouth kiss along the lines of the young man’s collar bone.

Helios hums from the back of his throat. Deeply satiated from profound exhilaration. And Elaía lets out a satisfied chortle like sigh and bucks his hip up, letting the post-climax satiety vibrate through their bodies. That draws a short happy whimper out of the dark curls.

Between rough breaths, the blond says, “would you mind—?” with his chest still heaving.

Helios gives a quick head shake, playfully twirling his finger on Elaía’s chest.

With a fond smile, Elaía sits them down on the floor, his large palm supporting the young man’s bottom. As they sat, Helios let out tiny mhph-s.

“you okay?”

The hazel eyes nods, catching his breath, running his fingers on Elaía’s sweaty forehead, “me okay,” and brings their lips together.

A long languid kiss. Their lips smoothly glide along ever so amorously as two feverishly breathe in each other’s exhales.

To the older man’s surprise, Helios gently starts to rock his pelvis feeling the half-hard erection in him so deliciously, making Elaía moan into the dark curls’ mouth.

“You’ll catch the chills,” says the blond low between kisses, running his large palm on the back of the young man’s sweat-soaked thin linen, grinning.

The hazel eyes arched his upper body up against the blond, continuing the leaden swells of motion. Helios encircles his arms around the fair skin’s shoulder, his bent elbows almost touching, and pulls him in close bracketing with the smooth inner forearms on the back of Elaía’s head. Just before the young man deepens his kiss, he purposefully whispers slow the following indulgent words, “then, you’ll just have to be my burning hearth.”

Elaía closes eyes slowly, kissing Helios fervently, as his hand snakes under the hazel eyes’ sweat damp chiton (*a type of tunic worn by Greek men). Finger pads traces up between the young man’s thighs, the blond gladly gives into the invitation. Refractory period be damned and let the gods witness; their envy and all.

.

**Blood | the significance and its cult**

For as long as human beings have been able to make oaths, they have frequently used blood to seal them. Blood was considered the most vital and regenerative of fluids, the very elixir of life. It was often offered as part of an initiation in many ancient Pagan and Christian religious ceremonies. Blood covenants were particularly common in the Middle East, and played a highly significant role in both Islam and Judaism, the Germanic Tribes, and also the blood oath among the leaders of the seven Hungarian tribes.

Blood oaths have been used to form a life-long bond and/or binding by a wide variety of mainstream religions, secret societies, warrior clans, criminal brotherhoods, and even between teacher and student in feudal Japan’s martial Ryu. To break a blood oath was unthinkable and those who did were considered the most vile of the vile.

.

**The Sentencing Day | Olympian Temple**

Viminia is sitting down with her legs folded together to the side, bent at the knees, shoulders sunken deep, upper body hunched in sorrow, her face looking up at the gods statues, disheveled, her face puffy, tears running down ceaselessly.

“You promised…,” her voice cracks, “you gave me your word that they will be happy.”

Ghostly hush echoes the vaulted hall of the temple.

“YOU SAID THEY WILL BE HAPPY!!,” Viminia cries out in agony. Her shriek resonances, bouncing off the domed stone walls.

._._._.

A full moon and a half ago, she followed the instruction as it was given to her.

_Feed these grapes to your beloved brother and his treasured. Make sure they finish them all. And place this emulate and this vile under the bed where they consummate their love._

The visit she made, risking the prying eyes of the acropolis, was to deliver those offerings to Elaía, without anyone (even Anchises) knowing what she was up to.

._._._.

Athena, Aphrodite, and Eros appear in front of her from the fog-like apparition.

“My dear Viminia,” says Aphrodite sorrowfully.

The earthly woman looks up at the deities with her tear-streaked face, half-imploring, half-scorning. She turns her head to Athena.

“The venerable one, you took my husband from me at one of your sport.”

The human then turns to Eros, “the revered one, you snatched my child from my arms for your game of jealousy.”

“The admired one,” she comes back to Aphrodite, “you took my beloved brother as a proof that love only exists for you.”

She soundlessly sobs as her eyes flutter closed.

“You gave me your word that they’ll be happy,” Viminia only murmurs between her tears.

“Were they not?” says Athena tartly with a stern look.

“I am disallowed from collecting my brother’s body!” exclaims Viminia, “and I am forbidden even going near his remains.”

“Oh, you poor child,” says Eros, “you already knew we do not meddle with the fate.”

“Fate?” Viminia shoots the word, “if their fate was to fall in love and be ripped apart horridly, why was I assured to pass on your blessing?”

“Because you prayed for it, my ingénue (*naïve young woman) child,” says Aphrodite, dejectedly.

Dumbfounded, Viminia’s gaze falls far.

Three deities stood looking down at disheveled woman.

“Now hear this,” spits Viminia, gathering herself up, filling her lungs, “all loving Gaea, and wide Ouranos above, I swear by the inexorable sacred river of oaths, Styx, I curse YOU and I swear I shall no longer worship Athena, Aphrodite and Eros till the last breath leaves this body.”

The Olympian gods have been using the River Styx to swear oaths upon, as declared by the mighty Zeus after the Titan war. As one of the five rivers connecting the world of living and the Underworld, the River Styx has been believed to have magical power. A promise or an oath on the River Styx can only be broken if another promise is made on the Styx that cancels it out.

Very odd to be a coincidence, Persephone appears behind Viminia.

Three other Olympians gasp as Persephone is usually not permitted to meddle the matters of the mortal realm; because of how she was pulled back to the underworld. Also, Charon, the ferryman, usually is the one who governs the matters of such oath on the River Styx.

“The immortal ones,” says the bride of Hades as she bows gracefully with soft expression.

Persephone glides down next to Viminia. Her full-length peplos (*body length long tubular garment worn by women) sparkled with her elegant move, as if the stars from the night sky have been plucked just to ornate her dress. They are not garish but in the shade of dark red like polished garnet stones. And the fabric is not like the other Olympian’s wear. They are enigmatically delicate-thin with intricate lace. Something about it bequeathes an uneasy yet unyielding sinister.

“My poor soul,” the goddess of Underworld whispers softly.

“Persephone,” the mortal one gasps between her sobs.

The bride of Hades delicately lifts Viminia’s face by her chin.

“…Is my brother with you?” Viminia manages the words despite her heart wrenching pain.

“No, my child,” answers Persephone offering a tender smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, which are colored with stark sadness, “his breaths still lingers in his mortal body.”

“…Can you help him?” Viminia asks breathlessly, more like plea.

“No, you mustn’t,” Aphrodite interjects, reaching out her long marble white arm, about to take a step close to Viminia.

Athena stops the goddess of love with swift stretch of her arm. She austerely shakes her head once. Aphrodite opens her mouth to protest but Eros joins in.

“Mother, the bride of Ares, please---,” warns Eros solemnly.

Persephone tilts her head ethereally, looking into Viminia’s tear-welled eyes, as if the three other gods aren’t there.

“Yes, my Viminia, I can,” answers the goddess quietly, wiping the mortal woman’s tears, “and I shall. You swore on the River of Styx.”

Athena slowly swivels around and takes a step into the thin air and disappears.

“What will you give in return?” inquires Persephone gently.

“My Life,” offers Viminia after a quick gasp for air between her pulled sobs.

Persephone quietly hums. And Eros pushes his feet as if he is backpedaling in mid-air and fades into the thin air.

“I will gladly lay down my life, the one after this very one, and the one following the next, if you guarantee,” the earthly woman adds, “my brother Helios,” a hitched sob heaves out of her frail frame, “and the love of his life, Elaía, will be happy, together, in love, forever.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she answers without reservation, “if not in this life, in their next life. If not, the next, then the one after that,” Viminia adds with determined tone, “I will never pledge under the same foolish blunder again.”

Persephone ghosts her touch around the outline of Viminia’s face while the meager mortal holds unshaking gaze on the goddess.

“Then, so it shall be done,” says the goddess of the underworld with a small smile.

“Just as I wish?”

“Just as you wished,” says Persephone, bowing her lightly.

Finally, a serene smile blooms on Viminia face.

“…how is it done?” inquires the mortal woman, finally settling into her coming fate.

Persephone gently takes hold of Viminia’s arm, one hovering with gentle clasp only the forefinger outstretched, grasping the mortal's hand with the other, as if the goddess is slowly lifting the softest and smoothest silk. At the end of the deity’s slender finger, an unearthly shaped long blood-red nail gleams dangerously.

“On the seventh night of waning crescent, I shall come for you,” says Persephone, eerily turning over the end of her nail on Viminia’s inner forearm, “That night, just before the new moon, I will bathe you in your own blood before crossing into the my world.”

Viminia swallows hard.

“With that, your oath on the River Styx and your sacrifice together will seal my promise as an unbreakable oath,” adds the bride of Hades, “no god shall break it or dare to counter with another.”

The mortal quietly nods.

“Very well,” says Persephone and tabs the end of her nail on the mortal’s skin.

Ancient writing no mortal has laid eyes upon appears — slithering, in three lines in blackest red. As the queen of netherworld runs the back of her outstretched fingertip down on the corporeal woman’s flesh, the blood-red letters now trails behind, turning into the shape of six pomegranate seeds.

Persephone artfully twirls her finger making the seeds spiral, lifting in mid-air just above Viminia’s forearm. The underworld deity smoothly rolls her wrist over, turning her palm up as the seeds float up along her movement. She lets them swirl above her delicately opened palm for a moment. Then Persephone's fingers strum-swirl-close on her palm, a softly clenched fist, making all traces disappear as if the whole thing never occurred. The goddess of the Underworld leers leisurely, getting herself up onto her feet.

When Viminia dries her last tears, she finds the goddess of love standing with her hands on her chest, her tears glistening down her cheeks. Viminia looks up with a temperate surprise, completely exhausted.

Persephone deftly whips her arm at her shoulder level, trailing her translucent black cloak, furtively tossing Aphrodite a sinister glance. Then she glide-passes the remaining Olympian, before disappearing into the thick evening air.

“My unfortunate, poor, poor, gentle, mortal soul,” says the deity gasping in uneven breaths, “I bless you with twelve lights.”

And the fairest goddess in Olympus places her celestial palm on top of Viminia’s curls, “On my honor and my life, you shall always be with your brother each life you walk this earth.”

*

**Present Day | Vimini's Room**

Elio ended his acoustic rendition of another 80s upbeat pop song, letting the last note cheerfully resonate through the air in the room.

Vimini held out her palm and sighs contently. Elio reached forward and took her hand with both his hands, the pick still in between his fingertips, offering a small smile.

“I will miss those smiles, Elio.”

On top of the bed side table, an old copy of children’s book with a vinyl cover (a local library sticker and stamp that indicated that it was from the city library of B) sat quietly.

| | | FIN | | |

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> –three full moons/ a full moon and a half: three months/ about 6 weeks, respectably (“my” sly attempt on fictionally fast-tracking without droning on the exposition of Ancient Greek calendar system.).   
> – brined lupinis: are large yellow legume usually pickled that were one of staple food in Greek era. (personally, I enjoy them with olives. Sometime too much. Num-num *five-year-old smile*)  
> –chiton: a type of tunic worn by Greek men, especially for Summer, was often made of a lighter linen material.   
> –ingénue: naïve young woman (typically, a beautiful, kind, gentle, sweet, and often naïve female character in literature, film and play.)   
> –Prayers & offerings: In every home, street, and city, Greeks kept shrines for offerings to the gods. Grapes are one of the popular offerings when the ancient citizens pray for both blessings and curses.   
> –Gaea: [Greek Mythology] Gaia, the ancestral mother of all life, mother earth.   
> –Ouranos: [Greek Mythology] Uranus, Heaven, father sky.   
> –Swearing oaths upon Styx: in a gist, it’s kind of a check-and-balance for gods action and behavior, saying if a god breaks the oath, the consequence will ensue, though it may not be as dire as the ones the mortal ones would suffer.   
> –five rivers of Hades (a-z, not in the order of how the dead travels when they pass-on in Greek mythology, ‘the river of’ omitted below for economy):   
> i. Acheron: sorrow (or woe),   
> ii. Cocytus: lamentation,   
> iii. Lethe: forgetfulness,   
> iv. Phlegethon: fire,   
> v. Styx: hate.   
>  (cf. in Asian cultures and, of course, Dante’s inferno, similar depths or levels of hell is depicted. Curious–)  
> –Persephone & pomegranate seeds: there still is a heated debate on how many seeds and their significance. But I elected to go with the version of six seeds since the correlating story of seasons matches the timeline of my AU interpretation. Persephone spends six months with her dear mother on Olympus and Earth (spring & summer) and six months with her beloved husband, Hades (fall & winter). So by this fic’s time line, Persephone was on her way down to the land of the dead when she appears before Viminia, at the end of the Summer.  
> –blood oath: since Vimini ailed with Leukemia all her short life, my interpretation: Viminia’s blood sacrifice for an unbreakable oath eons ago = leukemia.   
> –another cross-over with my other AU. If you got the hint to which one, I thank you greatly.  
> .  
> –an irrelevant detail: had Rascal Flatts _Here Comes Goodbye_.  
> .  
> [ for those who cared ] I uhm... I really sawwee... it took me too long to get off my ass to get this re-uploaded. I'm in the middle of getting the age-bend AU done as well. So I deeply appreciate your understanding. *deep head bow*  
> .  
> As Always, \Thank You/ for reading, your time and interest.  
> Light up your heart, ignite your soul. I am with you; no matter where, no matter when, no matter what. Stay healthy, stay well: mind. body, and soul.  
> 


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